174 



RECREATION. 



that makes me admire no less than 

 Coquina? Hast shot the ruffed grouse? 

 Not on the broad prairies, nor on the moors 

 or barrens, where the long flight gives op- 

 portunity to the veriest tyro to shoot and 

 kill, but where hill rises upon hill or 

 where, more rugged still, mountain piles on 

 mountain and ravine and gulch rive the 

 peaks asunder, and shadow and forest 

 mazes hide the fleeing birds. There it is 

 sport for kings ; aye, for kings among 

 sportsmen. No ; not on heather where it 

 may be merely a rout of birds that wealth 

 may drive into the net of death ! 



You whose home is in the great metrop- 

 olis, do you know you can kill the ruffed 

 grouse within an afternoon's easy travel 

 of New York. I do not speak now of the 

 great prairies nor of the great Northwest 

 ranges of loftiest peaks reaching from 

 Teton basin to the Selkirks, nor of Cana- 

 dian forests nor Maine woods. No, I 

 said an afternoon's travel. Then follow 

 these footsteps and mark if there be blood 

 so sluggish it will not leap, or pulse so 

 dull it will not quicken if you have trod 

 the ways, though your shot shall not have 

 touched a feather of that fleeting phantom. 

 You shall have had your chance ; nay, I 

 will give you the shot. I can not give you 

 the skill. Come into the heart of Nature. 



"Lovest thou through autumn's fading realms to 



stray, 

 To see the heath flow'r wither'd on the hill; 

 To listen to the woods' expiring lay, 

 To note the red leaf shining on the spray, 

 To mark the last bright tints the mountains 



stain." 



The D., L. & W. train that leaves Bar- 

 clay street at 4 p. m. climbs the Poconoke 

 mountains and leaves you at Cresco at 7 

 p. m., where your carryall is waiting. 

 Thence a 3 hours' ride far away from the 

 roar and smoke drift of the train into the 

 heart of the mountains, always climbing up 

 and never downward until through the 

 darkness gleam the lights of the farmhouse 

 where your coming is awaited. You are 

 tired less by the ride than by the cool moun- 

 tain air, for the October night is cold and 

 frosty, and you will be glad to eat and 

 sleep. So tired you can not be tempted 

 to stay and talk, for you can only nod as- 

 sent to "Early start" and then good-night. 

 Anticipations of the morrow will fill the 

 dreams that haunt the slumbrous night 

 wherein you bring back a bag of 3 or 4 

 cocks. No; not at all tired, though it was 

 far to go and hard to travel. Then you 

 awake, for a voice is calling you for the 

 early start. 



It is indeed early and dark! Sim, the 

 boy who will accompany me, stands in the 

 door with Lance, my dog, shells and lunch. 

 As I step outside I break the gun and slip 

 in the shells for no loaded gun stays in the 

 house. Down the road we go and then we 



leave it for a path that leads up the moun- 

 tain. We are going to shoot down into 

 the valley and finish the day's hunt where 

 the stream runs through the marsh at the 

 bottom of the gulch. Through the gulches 

 and ravines and across the plateaus where 

 the scrub oaks thicken and where the sage, 

 wintergreen and huckleberries abound, 

 must we be when the sun breaks through 

 the tree tops on the mountain summits. 

 There and then while the grouse feed and 

 the day is young we hope to flush our first 

 birds. Then we shall have to follow 

 them into their fastnesses and hunt them 

 long and hard if we are to have a bag of 

 4. Then we shall be most envied, and 

 many will say "lucky" and none will credit 

 us for the hard work. Upward we climb 

 for Sim professes to know where he can 

 put his very hand on a cock or 2, and 

 I have promised him his choice of a re- 

 ward, an extra quarter for each bird, be- 

 sides his day's pay, or my old hunting 

 jacket, a leather affair with red flannel lin- 

 ing, which he has longed for with a desire 

 past portrayal, a desire that is bated and 

 hot with eagerness! 



Sim is eagerly telling me he has kept 

 as a preserve sacred for me a plateau full 

 of sage, huckles and wintergreen with 

 plenty of chestnuts and acorns, and that 

 coat will be his this blessed day as he rubs 

 his hands over it in covetous anticipation ! 

 Did he not see the scratching place, that 

 arena of display and duello? Did he not 

 see 2 great cocks fighting there, and did 

 he not' see the hens there last week? And 

 has he not kept everybody away from 

 there? What wouldst thou have more? I 

 had never before met anyone who had seen 

 with his own eyes, as I had never seen, a 

 scratching place ! 



Listen to the disgust and even angry dis- 

 approval when I express my disbelief that 

 any grouse are still there ! I chuckle al- 

 most audibly when Sim, in an indignant 

 though innocent manner, gives me to un- 

 derstand that the coat does not depend on 

 my skill, nor on my killing the birds ! I do 

 not answer that imputation, but secretly 

 determine that if I get 4 fair shots, no mat- 

 ter whether I bag the birds or not, Sim 

 gets the coveted coat and the quarters, 

 too. 



Never did the brethren envy Benjamin 

 as Sim did me, but he faithfully worked, 

 for he is all earnestness, and is moving fast. 

 Not so fast but that Lance is fairly pulling 

 him off his feet. The autumn skies are il- 

 lumined with cardinal and gold, the sun is 

 just poking through the tree tops, the far 

 off peaks are irradiated with the golden 

 splendor, and then — my first shot is lost! 

 Sim looks at me and I look at Sim, but 

 that sound will not repeat itself, and the 

 beauty of the sunrise cost me a ruffed 



